


Trapped

by Angelci5



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelci5/pseuds/Angelci5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle are trapped on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008.

"How much longer?" Doyle strutted across the cellar floor to where there was a small dirty window just above his head. He jumped up and grabbed the brick ledge, easily holding himself aloft to look through the filthy glass.

Bodie's eyes flicked up briefly from the magazine he was reading. "Just relax, Ray. Nothing we can do but wait for the cavalry."

"But how long are they gonna be?" demanded Doyle, dropping back to the ground and turning to where Bodie sat perched on top of an old crate. "You could give me a leg-up and I'll smash that glass," he thumbed over his shoulder.

"And what about the solid steel bars fixed across the outside?" asked Bodie without looking up.

"I can shout... someone might hear." Even to his own ears he didn't sound convinced.

"Forget it." Bodie glanced at his watch and then looked at his partner. "No-one's about, they'll all be down the pub."

"Oh this is terrific! It's been over an hour already, Bodie, how much bloody longer!"

"Look, Murphy knows we're here. Luckily one of us followed SOPs and let him know—“

"You just happened to mention it, you mean!"

"—where we were going. He’ll soon realise we should’ve been back by now and come and get us. We just have to wait. Could be worse, at least there’s something to read," he waved the magazine he was holding.

"Oh yeah, great, a Reader’s Digest from 1975 and Woman's Own." Doyle started pacing. "It's all Cowley's fault, making us work on Christmas Eve. We could be trapped down here for days, no food or water..."

"Never mind all that, you should be more concerned about how we explain it to the Cow. We'll never hear the end of it you know, getting caught out like bloody amateurs."

"Yeah, that's a point... if we _do_ ever get out, Cowley will kill us anyway," Doyle said dejectedly. Leaning back against the wall, he slid down to the floor.

"Still, dum spiro spero," said Bodie, flicking a page over.

"Dumb what?"

" _Dum spiro spero_ ," Bodie enunciated carefully, as though to a child. "It's Latin, Doyle, means 'While I breathe, I hope'."

"Latin?" scoffed Doyle. "Don't tell me you did Latin at school. You were barely there long enough to learn English!"

"Nah," grinned Bodie. "It was a bloke in Africa, had it tattooed up his arm. The School of Life, you see, can't beat it."

“Yeah? So how does that help us get out then, Houdini?”

“Just saying there’s always hope, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see. Well that’s brilliant, that is, really helpful.” Doyle stood up and started pacing again.

Sighing, Bodie closed the copy of Woman’s Own and chucked it on the floor. “Well," his gaze raked over the denim-clad figure strutting back and forth in front of him, "we could always… you know…?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Doyle stopped in front of Bodie and stared at him in disbelief. “What, here? With Cowley due to burst in at any moment? Are you completely mad?"

“It’d pass the time, wouldn’t it? And the Cow’s gonna be annoyed anyway, so….”

“Christ, you must have a death wish! Doesn't anything dampen that bloody libido of yours?" Doyle started pacing restlessly again, hands on hips. "Try the RT again.”

Feeling his patience rapidly running out, Bodie kept a rein on his temper and obediently pulled the RT out of his jacket pocket. He pressed the button a few times to no avail. “No chance, we’re not going to get through, not down here.”

Just then they heard footsteps. Bodie stood up and positioned himself next to Doyle. Shoulder to shoulder, they both warily faced the door. They heard the jangle of keys in the lock and briefly exchanged glances, then the door swung open and there stood Murphy, grinning broadly.

“Thank God it’s you Murph,” said Bodie, releasing the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Nice one mate, we owe you one,” he patted him on the shoulder.

Their relief was short-lived however, when another figure emerged from the shadows behind Murphy.

“So gentlemen,” Cowley greeted them, taking the keys from Murphy. “CI5’s finest caught out by a self-locking door. In CI5's own building, no less. You’ve surpassed yourselves,” he said with an air of amusement and a glint in his eye.

Cowley took a few paces around the room, taking in the dirt and cobwebs, before turning his gaze back on them. “And just  
what did you hope to find down here? You didn’t believe the rumours about crates of whisky, did you?”

Neither Bodie nor Doyle replied.

“I think a refresher with Macklin might be in order, don’t you?” Cowley smiled. “Something to look forward to in the New Year. In the meantime, you can both buy me a drink.” With that he turned abruptly and walked out of the cellar, a sniggering Murphy following him.

Bodie made a lurch for the door, just catching it before it swung shut again. Holding it firmly open he turned back to Doyle. “Well, the old man wasn’t too bad, was he, I think we got off lightly.”

Doyle glared at him. “You think having to endure Macklin is getting off lightly?”

“At least it’s not till next week, Ray, I was half expecting him to make it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well next time you have a hare-brained scheme to get us some free booze, count me out! I could do without spending several hours in a filthy, bloody cellar with nothing to do except listen to you!” Doyle emphasised his point by prodding a finger sharply in Bodie’s chest. “And now we’ve got that bloody sadist and his little helper to look forward to! Thanks a lot, Bodie!” And with that, Doyle marched out of the door.

Bodie stared in amazement at the retreating figure. “And a Merry Christmas to you, mate,” he called, letting his eye line drop slightly to admire the undulating vision ahead of him.

Perhaps a few drinks with Cowley and the lads wasn’t such a bad idea, Bodie decided. A bit of festive cheer should loosen Doyle up nicely, and then it would only take a few provocative glances and a couple of surreptitious touches, and Bodie was confident Doyle’s libido would be more than a match for his own...

The End


End file.
